Swift and Saddled (Rebel Blue Ranch, #2)

by Lyla Sage

Our sunsets glow with color, And in the pearly dawn of morn, The pungent scent of sage drifts down, On a breeze that’s mountain born. —“This God-forsaken Land,” Juanita Leach, cowboy poet, circa 1940s

Not fucking dimples. Those should be illegal. Or at least require some sort of warning before flashing them at people. Warning: Dimples may appear and cause panty-dropping.

“Sorry about him.” His voice was close to me now. My fluffy companion wagged his tail as his owner’s footsteps approached. “He’s got a thing for beautiful women.”

Some days I wasn’t very proud to be me, but I was always proud to be my dad’s son.

I was an idiot. But at least I was aware I was an idiot.

But depression wasn’t a logical disease. It was an unexpected cold front in the middle of July. It was impossible to predict, which meant that I spent much of my time worrying about when the other shoe was going to drop. Not if, but when I would sink into another dark hole and have to decide to claw my way out of it. Even when I was happy, I was thinking about when I wouldn’t be.

Honestly, it was exhausting. It took up so much of my brain even though I recognized that there wasn’t very much I could do about it.

what I meant when I said that my brain didn’t feel like my own sometimes. It felt like it belonged to my mental illness i...

“I just wanted to make you aware that your staring is about as subtle as a gunshot.”

Derail my day? I’d drive my truck off a cliff if it meant that I got a few moments alone with her, but she didn’t need to know that.

Stupid sad brain.

I’d felt locked in a cage of my own making my entire life. One look at this woman and the first thing I felt was envy.

lighting myself on fire would probably have been more enjoyable than this moment.

I felt a pang in my chest, and for the first time in a long time, I wondered what it might be like to be not just liked but loved.

I seem to always turn out to be a disappointment, so why bother?

“Is this what you were thinking about? When you couldn’t take your eyes off me in the kitchen, were you thinking about touching me?” I swallowed and nodded, unsure when I decided to admit that to him—or to myself. “I see you, Ada. I always see you, even when you won’t look at me.”

On her feet were the socks I’d left outside her door. She wore them all the time, and every time I saw them, I had to try not to smile. Smiling would give it away and she would know for sure that it’d been me. Then she’d probably decide never to wear them again and let her toes freeze off just to spite me. I liked that about her—her stubbornness—but it also drove me insane. She drove me insane.

Feelings like this didn’t exist to be forced into dormancy. I just had to wait for her to catch up.

I thought back to that night at the bar, how he made me smile, and how he’d made me smile every day since—even when I wasn’t kind to him. He was like the sun. No matter what, he would keep coming up.

I’d spent my entire marriage basically begging my husband to notice me, see me, love me—to do something. He never did.

“You are earnest and talented, tenacious and funny.” I couldn’t have looked away from him if I’d tried. His green eyes gripped me and wouldn’t let go. “I would never insult you by calling you something as generic as nice.”

At his core, Weston Ryder was gentle, and I thought that was the best thing that a man could be.

“I can’t feel stuck again,” I said. “I’ve been married, I tried the love thing, I was desperate for it. I still dream about it, but I made myself so small that I didn’t know who I was anymore.”

“When I woke up and he was gone, I felt relieved. I was deeply sad afterward, but not because I was grieving the relationship. I was grieving all of the parts of myself that I lost or gave up in the name of comfort because I would rather have been comfortable than happy. I chose to prioritize my false sense of security instead of me.”

“You deserve that job. I want you to take it. I’m not going to hold you back from following your dreams.”

“I can see you’re confused.” He stepped closer to me. “So let me break this down for you: I fucking adore you, Ada. You are, without a doubt, the most brilliant and purposeful woman that I’ve ever met, and I would be the stupidest man alive if I let something as stupid and surmountable as distance take you away from me.”

“I know that your feet and hands are always cold no matter the weather. I know that you prefer to wake up early on the weekends because you would rather take a nap in the afternoon than sleep in. I know you love sour candy and hate repeating yourself. I know you’re always on time, and I know you’re lying about hating country music.” He paused for a minute before saying, “I know you.”

“The little things are the big things, Ada. They’re the things all the big things are made of. I might not know you all the way, but I want to, and I’m just asking you to give me a chance to do that.”

“You say you’re not nice, or warm, or bright, or any of these other stupid fucking words that people use to describe the sun, but I never asked you to be the sun.” I rolled my eyes, trying to move them in a way that would stop the tears from falling. “I would rather have the moon anyway.” I scoffed at him then. Acting like he was being ridiculous was my only defense mechanism. “I’m the moon?” I asked sarcastically. “You’re the moon,” he said. “And I’m the tides. You pull me in without even trying, and I come to you willingly. I always will.”

He saw me for exactly who I was, and he loved me because of it, not in spite of it.